Infirmed
by Gigi the Ragdoll
Summary: Almost a decade following the horrific tragedy at Peaceful Pines, Lydia Joyce Deetz returns to her childhood home to find dark shadows still clutching at a heart that she can't recognize as her own.


Summary:

_Not all walls are made of stone and mortar; some are mere bone and pretense. In time all things decay and we are left with not but truth. _

_Almost a decade following the horrific tragedy at Peaceful Pines, Lydia Joyce Deetz returns to her childhood home to find dark shadows still clutching at a heart that she can't recognize as her own. There are ghosts and memories in these walls, some more tangible then others. Buried away under years of compulsory therapy and medication, somewhere between the night-terrors and nursery rhymes, many souls hang in the balance- if only she could remember them._

Authors note:

Well ladies and gentlemen- I'm a literary masochist. That's what this little number is, a piece of literary masochism for someone for whom English is incredibly difficult (sigh)- the things I do for a good story.

A quick side bar, if I may. For all those still waiting on my MTR piece 'Breakable'- I've got some good and some bad news. The good news- I haven't given up n continuing it, and the writer's block is almost gone. The bad news, all the files including both my chapters and notes were corrupted and lost, so I'm trying to salvage what I remember of it.

Now about this little number. This is (quite obviously) a ghost story. What may not be obvious is that I take that quite far into the pretext of the story structure, and as such memory (ie: the ghosts of events past) plays a big part of both the story and story-telling method. So here's what you need to know before diving in:

Most of the story will be 'ghosting' through various lost memories and flashbacks (hopefully) pertinent to the story's arch but not necessarily in order, or even in the same chapter. For the most part, I think flashbacks will be denoted by the appearance of a date at the top of the section- but as a point of reference, and without giving too much away, here are the overall important dates to look out for -

-Lydia and family move to Peaceful Pines 1988, and Lydia meets B later that same year. Lydia is 10 going on 11 years old.

-The events of the television show take place from 1989-1992.

-The 'horrific tragedy' occurs in November of 1995 on the eve of Lydia's 18th birthday.

-Our 'present day' time line begins on October 19, 2004, at which time Lydia is 26 years old.

This is a bit of an experiment for another piece I am doing, so please let me know if anything begins to get muddy.

This story is a mash- up of sorts, with the cartoon serving as its base or inspiration, but quite a lot of information, plot points, and characters taken from the film as well. It's a bit of a challenge at the moment finding the appropriate tambour/voice for some of the characters, Given that the two main characters of this story are quite different in their show and movie incarnations. I anticipate (and fear) this will make for some interesting challenges in terms of preventing any ooc moments. I would love feedback to know how they are working and what, when possible, can be tweaked for authenticity.

As always, I feel it is worth mentioning that English is not my strongest suit, and I would like, there for, to apologies in advance for the many spelling/grammar errors and misplaced words you are likely to find within the work. I will also, and as always, do what I can to keep it to a minimum- but you have been officially informed, and I am likely to refer any comments to such effect to this section right here.

And Finally, this work is currently rated T, but I anticipate it could be bumped to M for a number of reasons, not the least of which including language, adult content and possibly character death (to living and dead characters alike)

Do enjoy….

* * *

**Infirmed**

**Part I**

I went down to Saint James Infirmary,

Saw my Baby there.

She was stretched out on a long white table,

So cold, so sweet, so fair.

Let her go, Let her go- God bless her.

Wherever she may be.

She can search this whole wide world over,

She won't ever find another man like me.

When I die bury me in straight lace shoes,

A box back suit and a Stetson hat.

Put a twenty dollar piece on my watch chain,

So the boys will know I died standing pap'.

-St. James Infirmary Blues

**Prologue**

October 31st , 1995

The Neitherworld seemed never as 'lively' (as the word might loosely apply) as it did in the bleak and brittle months of the winter season. Of course, stagnant as it was, the Neitherworld did not enjoy the same seasonal variety indicative of the world of the living. Temperature and weather phenomena such as snow and cold were tempered by region rather than season, and for understandable reasons at that. Change and cycles are, after all, descriptive qualities unique to the domain of the living, and rather ill-suited to the dead. Never the less, as the living world embraced the winter chill, the Neitherworld seemed to feed inexplicably off this sympathetic energy, as though their frequencies could simply resonate in harmony, bringing two worlds of almost insurmountable opposites closer together, and making the gateways between them slightly more compatible.

Yes, winter was a vivacious time in the land of the dead, and no one day encapsulated this better then the arcane traditions surrounding the earliest winter's markers; the first of All Saints Day or All Hallows' Eve- christened in more recent decades as Halloween.

All Hallows' Eve was a day of untold celebration, so profound in its festive fervor it invariably founded a counterpart even amongst those still living. The best attire, the finest bone-china, the most extravagant décor; all guaranteed to be out and in full array on this most esteemed of holidays. The Night when the living celebrated those who had since taken their departure, saw the dead in equal celebration for all it was to be alive, and this year was no exception. Throughout the capital city, the dearly departed were already taking to the streets for the signature seasonal display of parade and pageantry, skeletons and ghouls, ectoplasm and monstrosities alike mingling in their deadly-finest (even a witch or two could be sighted amongst the growing throngs, though most so spectrally inclined preferred to keep to their own time honored traditions).

And in the midst of such a diverse sea of jubilantly horrifying beasties, one pair of wayward friends stuck out like the sore thumb of a hitchhiking bone-daddy.

They were an unlikely pair under the best of circumstances; polar opposites in every way, from hygiene to habits, temperament to tolerance, morality to…well, mortality. At first blush, one might even go so far as to say, like the worlds of their respective origin, they too were wholly incompatible to the last detail. But, then again, as they say, 'the devil is in the details'; and when it came to the refined, meticulous points of their existence- the two were kindred spirits through and through…

…Even if, at the moment, they seemed more like a squabbling old couple.

"Beetlejuice!"

"Wh-at!" The agitated, if not downright frustrated, poltergeist bellowed. He whipped about, ripping his eyes away from an otherwise unsuspecting scarab beetle creeping its leisurely way up a city building to glare menacingly at the belligerent teen pulling at his arm. The lithe, raven haired lass did not even bat an eyelash, though his breath alone at such close proximity was enough to curdle milk.

"Come on Beej, were going to be late!"

"No we ain't! Just hold your horses, would yeah?"

There was a sharp crack and the light scent of sulfur. The girl blinked, realization slowly dawning on her that she no longer had a grip on her friends forearm, but was, instead, struggling to balance two dappled gray ponies no larger than a pair of lap poodles- one to each arm. The miniature mares blinked back at her as she glared down at them, reading the red penned words 'Property of one Lydia J. Deetz' emblazoned across a tag tied to each front left hoof.

The Miss Deetz in question looked less then amused. "B.J. quit _horsing_ around, I don't want to miss this!"

One pigmy pony snorted as it shook its main. "Quit _na-aggin_' me woman-"it whinnied as its twin gave an indignant snort of agreement. Lydia rolled her eyes, but smiled despite herself.

As immature as they must have appeared to anyone else, Lydia lived for their little pun games- trying as best she could to keep up with her friend's sharp wit and keen taste for literary metaphor. She was proud to say, in the seven plus years in his company, she could just about hold her own- but she still considered herself quite a sorry second for the self proclaimed 'Ghost With the Most'. Then again, he did have a couple hundred years on her, give or take.

"Alright, alright-"the ghost whined dramatically. "Teenagers- humph!" In another spark of smoke the two horses were gone and he was hovering beside her, grumblings something about the indecency of depriving a man of his dinner. Lydia simply smirked pleasantly back at him, unable to resist. "'You know you love it…" she cooed, in her best imitation of her friends' nonchalant-charm.

The ghost scowled, but said nothing. There was a manic kind of laughter behind his bright yellow-green eyes, however, that told her his humor was not nearly as ill-served as his present mood implied. Lydia had learned quite well through the years that Beetlejuice, if nothing else, was a drama-queen.

As it was, Lydia poignantly ignored the poltergeists persistent pout, choosing instead to focus on the streams of bright confetti, the extravagant decorations, and the flamboyantly dressed deceased that were beginning to pack the city streets in preparation for that evening's festivities. Nothing was going to dampen _her_ mood tonight, not the mounting academic pressures of her senior year, not her disintegrating human social life, not the drama of what had become an increasingly bureaucratic integument with the afterlife, and definitely not her peevish ghost companion. This was the Neitherworld at its finest and Lydia was feeling as though she was all of eleven years old again, basking in the bazaar beauty of what had become her home-away-from-home.

"I can't believe we're actually going to a Samhain festival!" She announced to no one in particular, bouncing along the sidewalk with a kind of childish abandon she had felt sorely lacking in her life as of late.

"Psh- What's not to believe?" Beetlejuice scratched at the side of his crooked nose before throwing in a crooked grin for what could only be good measure. "Between you're naggin' and my willpower… oh, and then there's the outright blackmail and that thing you do when you stick your lip out- I hate that lip thing! How's a man to stand a chance- Oof!"

He had hovered just close enough to allow Lydia a good solid elbow to the gut by way of retaliation.

"I didn't do anything with my lip, thank you very much. And bringing your attention to my other possible Halloween evening offers hardly constitutes blackmail. Besides, I don't understand why we haven't been going every year- this whole thing seems right up your alley. The partying, the chaos, the general tolerance for debauchery…"

"Eh-" Beetlejuice shrugged in an altogether noncommittal fashion.

"Well, have you ever been before?"

"Of course!" Beetlejuce declared, pulling at his striped lapel and looking down right affronted that she should even ask. "Centuries ago I gained my infamy raisin' hell at events like this- But that was when Samhain used to mean somethin'; when chaos and debauchery were a proper form of art. And, as you know, when it comes to the art of debauchery, I practically wrote the book." In case there should be any doubt, he pulled from some unknown depths of his coat, a thick green volume with the words 'PRECEPTS AND ATTRIBUTES OF DEBAUCHERY THROUGH THE AGES: A GLOBALLY ANTHROPOLOGICAL ACCOUNT AND _WHY IT WORKS_' emblazoned across the cover, accompanied by a not so flattering picture of her friend directly underneath.

Lydia attempted to hide her giggles in the back of her hand as Beetlejuce examined the cover wistfully. "Ah- those were the days. You know, they've been after me for a sequel for years now, but a man can't go giving away all his secrets." With a sudden and abrupt abandon, he unceremoniously tossed the book over his shoulder, (eliciting a sharp, indignant squawk from a passerby when the thick volume almost completely removed his already precariously balanced skeletal head from his shoulders).

"Anywho, I don't need no Samhain Festival for pranks and mayhem- Heck, everyday's a Samhain holiday in my book, babes. Don't need no special calendar day to whip up a scare-fest of ill-repute, if yeah know what I'm say'n."

He cackled as Lydia shook her head, still grinning from ear to ear. "Well this year is special!" Lydia asserted with excited determination. "I bet I'll be the first living person in the history of the Neitherworld to ever attend!"

Beetlejuce shrugged, seemingly nonplused. "Possibly babes, though I guarantee you're the first breather ever crazy enough to even _want_ to attend."

"Oh come on Beej, you can't tell me it's not at least a little fun to have everyone else out celebrating your depraved and immoral ways."

To her surprise, the ghost merely deadpanned. "Lyds, trust me; there's only so many times you can see a scrawny, ill dressed dead dame through herself, drunk and topless, off a second story balcony before the whole thing starts to fall a bit _flat_." He capitalized on his choice of wording through a vivid demonstration of metaphor, flattening himself to the pavement in a grotesquely inhuman manner. "Know what I mean?"

Lydia however, was unfazed, staring down at her now pancake-ed companion with a pout.

"It's not like you to be such a _downer_." Lydia declared as she folded her arms over her chest. Perhaps it was time for a change in tactic. "Come on Beej, where's your sense of adventure? It sounds like a real wild and crazy trip! And it's my first time! Surely you, of all people would know all the best ins and outs, the shadiest dives and the most horrifying places the festival has to offer! Who else is going to be able to show me the most frightful party in the Neitherworld and truly do it justice?"

It was like a moth to flame. A few quick strokes to the man's notoriously sizable ego and he was curling his lips into a wicked Cheshire grin.

"Ba-bes, have a little faith!" The ghost crooned, pulling himself back to his proper proportions before flinging an arm around her shoulder. Lydia marveled, not for the first time, how quickly she had gained on her friend in height, though he still remained the taller of the pair. She distinctly remembered a time when all eye contact with the man required her straining her neck. "You're with me, babes- remember? And wherever the B-man goes, wild and crazy times are sure to follow!"

Lydia giggled in triumph, unable to resist the urge to spin about in his grip and thrust two teasing digits into the poltergeists chest. "Yeah, and it usual lands the pair of us in court, on the moons of Saturn, in prison, or _worse_…"

Beetlejuice threw up his hands in mock defense, but did not relinquish his trickster grin. "Hey, I never claimed it was without a little give and take. I just said it would be wild and crazy. Got ta' read the fine print babes." He turned, offering her his arm as he waggled an eyebrow at her "So you want to see a real Samhain party; the ultimate 'get out of jail free' event. Leave it to me- I'll show you all there is to this, truly prestigious and distinguished celebration of cultural, heritage…" This last was said in a tone all but dipping with false pomp and sophistication. The Ghost burst into a fit of hysterical laughter which had Lydia in stitches as she slid her arm into his, wordlessly excepting his offer.

"Trust me Babes, next to this, that whole Mardi gras thing you breathers do looks like child's play!"

To her delight and relief, they managed to make it to the parade route in plenty of time and with little enough incident, though Lydia suspected that may have had something to do with her companions rather unorthodox approach to crowd dispersion (honestly, his socks gave a whole new spin to terms such as biohazard- an impressive feat for an entity completely lacking in bio-matter to begin with). They were now in the heart of the city, amongst the throngs eagerly awaiting the annual Samhain parade, the official opening ceremony to the Halloween season that culminated yearly with the dropping of the Halloween Pumpkin.

They had managed to secure quite a prime viewing spot beneath a lamp post right up alongside the main street. Though not exactly at the front of the crowd, the posts decorative base allowed for ample foot hold and Lydia was please to discover that by hoisting herself up she could easily see over the heads of those in front of her. Beetlejuice remained on the ground, leaning against the pole and picking leisurely at his crooked teeth in a show of indifference. Despite the packed and voicetress nature of the deceased throngs, Lydia could not help but note that those close to the two of them seemed to be giving them a good three feet of girth- though that may have had more to do with her companions notorious reputation.

The air was full of colorful streamers and jubilant cries of ecstatic, excited, and even in some cases intoxicated neitherworld citizens. Above them on balconies and in windows, lavishly dressed party ghouls hung out in throngs, decked to the nines in extravagant costumes and masks, all shouting, whooping, and jeering the equally ecstatic crowds below.

It was indeed like some dark, macabre adaptation of Mardi gras and Lydia was having the time of her life. Well, that is she was trying to have the time of her life, If Beetlejuice wasn't being such a wet blanket. Despite his earlier exuberance, the ghost seemed to have once again cooled to the whole Samhain affair, resorting to grumbling darkly to himself once more as he gave dirty looks to all those around them. This just simply was not like her friend in the least, and Lydia was starting to worry.

Lydia let out a small yelp as a young and buxom spook, either too drunk or too excited to notice the veritable mini no man's land about their staked out viewing spot collided into the post, nearly knocking her off her footing. The ghoul blinked up at her in surprise, before giving a small and sloppy giggle. "Love the mask!" she bubbled, her words almost lost in the throng "It's like you're a real breather or something. Totally fab!"

"Um…thanks." Lydia called back, readjusting her position slightly till she felt a bit more secure. "Love the…um… gashes?"

The dead girl looked down at her emaciated lower half, and enormous missing chunk of torso beginning directly under her ribcage and cutting away till all there was left of her were a few shreds of flesh and a spinal column. "Thanks!" She beamed. "Did the decomposition myself- can never be too thin or too gruesome, am I right?"

Lydia nodded, watching as the girl staggered back, but not before given her companion a clear and unmistakable once over. Beetlejuice, renowned lecher that he was, offered the dead girl little more than an impatient scowl in return. When the ghoul leaned forward to whisper something to him that Lydia could not catch, he snarled back something that, judging by the girls flustered expression and hasty retreat was less then flattering (and inappropriate to boot).

Lydia was dumbfounded. Since when did Beej, even on the worst of days, turn down a chance like that? He was a veritable ladies man (at least in his own mind) and reputable hound. Something was definitely not right…

Holding on to the pole with one hand she leaned down to tap her friend gently on the shoulder. The poltergeist blinked in surprise before looking up at her, his scowl softening somewhat. "B, you alright?" She asked, her voice almost lost in the cacophony of partying deceased.

Beetlejuice blinked for another second before offering her his biggest, cheesiest grin "What, me? Oh yeah babes, never better."

"Cause' if you're really not having a good time, we can always go back to the Roadhouse and-"

"No, no- I'm great, it's all great, everything's great. Why shouldn't it be, cause' I'm great…"

Lydia studied her friend for a moment, his tense shoulders and plastered smile. He really was a terrible liar when it came right down to it; she didn't know how it was he could con so many with skills like those. But she knew her friend, and knew him well enough to know that when he didn't want to talk about an issue, no amount of metaphorical (or literal, for that matter) teeth pulling would get him to open up. Dragging anything out of the ghost was next to impossible. Better to let him come to it on his own time- he would talk when he was ready. Besides she really did not want to leave now, not when they had such a good spot and the parade was all but about to begin.

"Ok, great." Lydia smiled, offering his shoulder one last reassuring squeeze.

She had no sooner turned her attention back to the festivities at hand when she felt a slight tug on her well worn red-webbed poncho "Actually babes, you got a minute?" She glanced down and he tipped his head, indicating a side alley that was comparatively less crowded then the main street they now occupied (and presumably less noisy.)

Lydia fidgeted slightly, looking from the ally to her friend and back again. "Now? But what if we lose our spots?" Yes, she had offered to go, but she really had hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"We won't babes; I just got to talk to ya' about something. We'll be back before anyone misses us."

Lydia bit her lip weighing the somewhat disconcerting look n her friends' eye to the possibility of losing such a good vantage point and maybe even missing some of the parade itself. What in the world could be so important that he had to talk to her just this second, and in private no less.

Lydia's thoughts were interrupted as she felt something small press into the palm of her free hand. She blinked, looking down to her companion who offered her his signature wolfish grin and a not so subtle wink. Surprised, she glanced back to her hand, her eyes growing wide at the sight of the black and tinsel graced gift nestled in her palm.

If Lydia hadn't known something was amiss before, she certainly knew it now. Beetlejuice was not exactly known for his forethought, let alone his generosity and goodwill- though to his credit, in the seven or so years she had known him, he had yet to forget any major landmarks concerning their relationship (even if his mind did seem to blur around the details of holidays, event planning, and yes, even his own Death-day). Random acts of generosity just were not part of the poltergeist's M.O., and this had the little goth both greatly concerned and endlessly intrigued. Clearly her best friend was playing some angle; though, if his expression was anything to go by, it was as if he expected _she_ was about to get the drop on _him, _rather than the other way around.

Curiosity overtook all other concerns, and Lydia silently stumbled down from her perch, with decidedly less grace then she had used in climbing up.

"Come on!" The ghost all but whined, grabbing her wrist and practically dragging her through the crowd.

As they walked Lydia took a moment to examine the strange little gift she now held. It in and of itself was an oddity- meticulously wrapped in a silver and black striped paper with a thin delicate black velvet bow to hold it all together. This was not her friend's usual quick and dirty wrapping job, constructed of mismatched paper in gaudy gothic patterns (a decidedly tacky aesthetic they both enjoyed). This was something he had taken time, if not (dare she think it) pride in pulling together. Lydia was not sure if she should be touched, worried or just downright suspicious. After all, this was Beetlejuice …

"I…I didn't get you anything." Lydia blurted out dumbly, voicing the first thing that came to mind once they were out of the chaos of the main street and in the relative quiet of the alleyway.

The poltergeist snorted. "Didn't exactly expect you to. That's what makes it a surprise, babes, it's spontaneous…"

"Oh it's a surprise alright." Lydia murmured, turning the little box over in her hand. "B.J., no offence, but when it comes to kind and generous acts, you don't exactly do spontaneous. Heck, you don't even do 'kind' and 'generous'."

Beetlejuice visibly blanched as though struck. "I know, so stop rubbing it in!" he pulled a face "good deeds, you know I hate um'-"

Lydia gave him a wry smile but made no move to open the gift. She watched as her friend began to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, seeming to eye her warily. "Look, you're birthdays comin' up in a few weeks right? And what with that whole dance thing you've been raving about comin' up, and all those advanced classes of yours eating into your time, I figured heck, I'd just get the drop on the whole affair while I had your undivided attention."

A silent pause fell heavily between the pair.

"Ok, who are you and what have you done with my poltergeist?"

"Lyds!" The ghost whined "I'm tryin' to be serious here!"

Another pause in which Lydia favored him with a raised brow.

"I did use the qualifier tryin'-" Beetlejuice added before she could point out the true absurdity of a self-descriptive adjective such as 'serious' ever once leaving his lips. On average, the man was about as serious as he was clean.

Lydia frowned, scanning his face for the tell tale signs of trickery.

"Oh come on Lyds! This ain't no Pranksgiving hold over, so quit look'n at me like I've somehow managed to slip the world's ultimate horror into some two inch cube."

"With you, B.J., who can say."

"Trust me, no matter how hard I try, Clair Brewster wouldn't fit- so just open it." He huffed, mumbling something under his breath about her taking all the nonexistent fun out of gift giving. Lydia laughed at her now sulking companion, the man practically pouting as he levitated with crossed arms and crossed legs in front of her. Carefully she pulled at the little black velvet ribbon and watched as both trimming and paper fell away to reveal a small black box. Slowly she lifted the lid, carefully aiming it away from her face, just to be on the safe side. After several seconds, when nothing vile or grotesque came leaping out from within, she tipped the box back and risked a look inside…

And felt her heart all but stop inside her chest.

She sucked in a small, involuntary gasp.

Beetlejuices' eyebrows lifted expectantly and, where she paying any attention in the slightest, she might have sworn a look comparable to concern pass behind those luminance green eyes. But she wasn't paying attention, not to the look or even the words he was now speaking, not the throngs of screaming Neitherworldians and celebration mere feet from where they stood. Not to the color and confetti that surrounded them. Not to the myriad of troubles that seemed to dog them. Her entire world had become consumed with the small contents of this little black box. It was not until she felt a cold hand pressed against her shoulder that she could bring herself to tear her eyes away from the small marvel resting in her palm.

"Hey! Earth to Lyds? You still with me?"

Lydia managed a small nod, her eyes darting from her friends' tense expression to the box and back again. "Beetlejuice, I…"

"Easy on the B-word babes, that's already two." He tried a nervous laugh as he shoved both hands into his pockets and rocked forward on his toes, evidently waiting for a response. Upon getting none, his smile faltered and a small crease began to form at his brow. His demeanor became abruptly guarded.

"You hate it-"

"No!" Lydia asserted quickly, involuntarily pulling the box too her, clutching it to her chest. "It's- it's incredible B.J., its perfect! It's just… I just…"

"Babes, it's just a silly little gift, don't go look'n that far into it…"

Lydia balked. "Don't look into it? B.J., what the heck am I supposed to think? I mean you- this- You're not actually, seriously…"

"What?! Of course not!" The Poltergeist snapped, disgust and irritation fighting for dominance on his features. At any other time the look might have been downright comical, but there was a sharpness to his tone, a gravity that had only found its way there in the past few months, and Lydia knew without a doubt the implication this particular gift might bring, and that the gravitas would hardly be lost on her friend.

"Then- what?" She asked in a small confused voice "I mean, Beej, you said…"

"I know what I said!" Beetlejuice abruptly spat the words with an unexpected anger that left no room for discourse. "-and it ain't changed. We've been through this, babes. And just because the powers that be along with those _pin-headed_…" in a flash he shifted his own face to demonstrate the words with grotesque clarity, "_brain-mashed_…" an even more grotesque demonstration, "_ass-hats_…" A donkey in a dunce hat (Lydia breathed a slight sigh of relief, knowing full well that particular manifested metaphor could have been much worse) "-down at the bureau with their paper pushin', stuffed shirted cronies don't get it… I expect better of you, Lyds; I know _you_ know better."

He paused, instantaneously returning to his usual visage as a slightly panicked worry crossed behind his eyes. "At least, I hope you know me better. You do know better…don't cha' babes?"

Lydia felt a small thread tug at her heart to see her friend's sudden uncertainty, and she was quick to offer him a warm, reassuring smile. "I know Beej, I know…" Lydia dropped her gaze down at the contents of the box once more, felling her stomach perform another uncomfortably -pleasant flip up into her chest. "But with everything that's been going on- given all we've talked about…how else do you want me to…"

"Look, it just ain't like _that_!" He cut her off again, both sets of red tipped fingers now resting on her shoulders. "_I _ain't like that. Not now, anyway. And I like to think you, at least, get that." He paused for a moment. She could practically see the wheels in his head turning, trying to put together the right explanation that would make sense of the senseless mixed signals he must have known this would be sending.

"Lyds, I know these past few months, they ain't been fair on yah. And I know I ain't always…well, all said, I'm not exactly the most… I can be a bit unpredictable at times."

Lydia snorted her agreement, but bit her tongue lest she veer them off topic. He dropped his arms from her shoulders, opting instead to fidget slightly with his ever wrinkled tie, his gaze falling as he tried for an un-needed breath.

"There's a lot goin' on right now, most of it I can't even talk t'yah about, but if anything, you know, happens to me, I just sort'a want you to know…"

"I would say 'yes'"

His head shot up so fast she was sure she could hear the vertebra in his neck pop in protest. "You what?"

"If you asked me, I would say 'yes'."

He was silent, and she waited with a knotted stomach. Their eyes locked, and for a rare moment Lydia could have sworn she could see straight down to the core of the ghost- could see the true soul behind the phenomenon and persona and 'name'. The world around them seemed to fall away as though the two were suspended in an artificial vacuum, no sound; no sensation seemed to exist outside their little private bubble.

Abruptly Beetlejuice snorted, breaking the spell and puncturing their vacuum with the sharp humorless grunt. "Of course you would." Where she might expect to find his words colored with pomp and pride, or even bitter dismissal, she could hear only a sad resignation, even a hint of what she could only describe as regret.

But before she could demand an explanation the mask was back in place and she was favored with a cragged, crooked grin. "But you know, and I know, and you know I know it ain't got'ta come to that- right kido?"

Lydia blinked, feeling a bit emotionally whiplashed. Not trusting her voice she resigned herself to staring down at the little box in her hand. When had everything become so complicated? When had it all become so serious? She knew the answer of course; she just wanted a different one. This just wasn't right, and it certainly wasn't fair. On either of them. It was enough to make her cry.

"Hey, come on Lyds," Lydia looked up into a startling pair of earnest green eyes. "-you're my best friend- my _only_ friend. You're the one soul I got worth putt'n up with all this for- And that's say'n someth'n, believe me. Got a reputation and all that." He tried for a smile, but it was forced and hollow, fading quickly with a sigh.

"I don't know what is comin' babes, but I- not that I'm lookin' to jinx us or nothin', but I got ta' be honest, I just can't rightly see a clean way out of this one. Not yet anyway. I wanted you to have that to let you know, no matter what comes at us, I ain't goin' nowhere. We're a team, you and me. Can't be messin' around with good chemistry, am I right?"

She nodded, smiling a sad smile far too knowing and mature for her age. "Right" Lydia chirped, trying not to notice just how choked her voice sounded, even in her own ears. Without even thinking to do so Lydia through herself at the ghost, catching him about the neck and holding him tight. The damn finally cracked and the waterworks came, mixed inexplicably with light peals of laughter.

Because at the end of the day, though her life was changing, falling apart, may even be flying to pieces; yet still, at the end of the day, they still had each other. And that was all that mattered really. They had each other's backs, and knew the other down to the last detail. And, despite the worst of it, she wouldn't change her life for anything. She loved her best friend, every awkward, grimy, selfish, mischievous, bright, thoughtless, playful, lewd, unusual, cantankerous, protective, insightful, creative, peevish, and loving detail. She simply could not and did not want to imagine her life without him in it.

"You're my best friend Beej." The words were almost swallowed by the lapel of his infamous pinstriped suit. "In this or any other world, I just hope you know that."

The Poltergeist stood absolutely frozen, which neither surprised nor bothered the little goth in the slightest, she was just so grateful to still have him there, for better or worse, lest nothing tear them apart. She sniffled slightly, trying to stem the tide of tears and taking in the heavy musk that forever hung about the man's clothes and personage. On occasion (or more frequently on command) her friend could smell as fowl as a rancid dumpster in a July sun; but more often he had a scent reminiscent of the fall season, of dry tobacco and old parchment, fresh coffee grounds and aged whisky. It was an oddly warm smell, and like so much of the man, something she had grown endlessly fond of over their years together.

It was a long, silent moment before Beetlejuice finally moved; his arms slowly, almost timidly coming up to gently encircle her waist and hold her tightly to him. Lydia smiled, still sniffling slightly in her friends embrace, wrapped in the safe cool arms and warm smell. He leaned forward to rest his chin against her brow. "Ditto babes." He murmured into her fringe giving her waist a reassuring squeeze with evidently all concerns for reputation going right out the proverbial window.

Lydia beamed, squeezing him back. "I don't think I could do this without you, so don't you ever leave, Beej. And no matter what, don't ever change on me."

He laughed before he pulled away, favoring her with a rare, genuine smile that had her all but beaming. The moment was broken however as Beetlejuice bent his neck to sniff at his own armpit with dramatic gusto. Lydia burst into laughter, the intimacy and severity of the moment and her gift brushing past them as he tugged poignantly on the lapelled of his striped suit and favored her with a toothy smirk.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

…

October 29, 2004

The gravel cracked and rustled in the bleak October air as the Ford Taurus trundled its lazy way around the final bend and the large white house came looming into view above them; an absurd mash-up of antique elegance and post modern glam casting a long gray shadow in the late afternoon sun. A low, long whistle of admiration came from the passenger seat. Lydia risked a quick glance to the right to catch her companions opened mouthed expression.

"What?"

He just shook his head; a goofy looking grin stretching across is lean face. "Hell Lydia, you said it was no small affair, but this is something else all together. It looks like an original Gahry Frank or even an Otho Fenlock."

Lydia Deetz snorted, trying to hide her amusement behind a thinly veiled smirk. "Mr. Edwin, you take the word 'nerd' to a whole new realm of unsettling, do you know that?"

Allan Philips Edwin beamed back at her "Flattery will get you nowhere, nor does it change the fact that it's an impressive piece of post-modern kitsch."

"I take away the shovel but the man keeps on digging the hole."

The vehicle slowed as it approached the familiar creek, the old covered bridge before them not fifty paces off. Her smile faltered then disappeared all together as Lydia felt the distinct chill of fear rake down her spine, settling deep in her stomach. Months of planning, of mental preparation, pep-talks, therapy, even the fatigue of the ten hour road trip seemed to do little now that the moment was actually here. Even in the bright light of day the bridge seemed a daunting, ominous presence in her mind's eye- a looming gateway back to a world she would give anything to step away from. Almost on impulse Lydia brought the car to a stop, throwing it into park before killing the engine.

"Lydia?"

She did not look at him, but rather focused on relaxing her death grip from the steering wheel.

"Just- give me a moment," she managed through slow breaths. "'hic omnes spes ingredientibus', and all that crap."

"Ah-" Allan offered her a sympathetic smile, but said nothing, allowing the car to lapse into silence and Lydia a chance to collect her thoughts. Lydia leaned forward rubbing her eyes between forefinger and thumb. The Drive up from Richmond had been a long one, and she felt well warn both by the drive and the emotional free fall this trip had sent her through. But she just couldn't come all this way to stop now, here at the threshold. "Some vacation." She scoffed, finally looking up to offer her companion an apologetic smile. "We finally both manage to pull time away from the paper and here I am in pieces before we've even made it to the front door."

Allan merely shrugged.

"I've condemned us to a week of absolute purgatory."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. I'm sure there's plenty to do."

Lydia snorted. "Nothing ever happens in Peaceful Pines, let alone way out here on Winter River. Give it three days and you'll be begging for the thrills and cutting edge excitement of the editor's room."

Allen groaned "Don't even joke about something like that. If I have to sit through one more pitch for Debra's 'activists in artistic achievement' column I might just actively and artfully pitch myself off the highest point accessible in a five mile radius."

"Oh, the trials and tribulations of a chief editor on the board." Lydia teased, favoring her friend with her best dramatic bravado.

"Hey, you're not the one who has to sit through the budget meetings." He suddenly brightened, pulling out a small notebook from the breast pocket of his jacket to check something "Anyway, I did a little digging before we came and the literary society of New England is hosting a lecture on the 'Adaptation and Evolutionary Impact of Lovecraft on the Emerging Horror Genera' this Sunday, not twenty miles from here if I'm reading this correctly! You want to go?"

"Wow…Keep it up Edwin, and your nerd title gets upgraded to hipster elitist".

Allan feigned injury, knitting his brow as he took in a sharp breath "cruel and unjust punishment babes."

"I'm nobody's 'baby'." Lydia interjected, the humor abruptly gone from her voice.

"You could be, if you weren't such a cold, indoctrinated feminist tight-ass."

"Card carrying member of the back-water intelligentsia."

"Coffin Sleeper."

"Mold addict!"

"Gothic Princess!"

"Political correspondent!"

"Oww- not fair!" Allan grabbed at his chest as though physically struck, sucking in a breath through his teeth. "That's a temporary position and you know it-"

They were smiling at each other, reveling in their crude and pointless banter. If there was one thing Allan was good at, it was running out her fuse, bringing her back to earth and keeping her grounded. He put up with her little outbursts with a patience and understanding that came (she could only guess) from a lifetime of similar struggles overcome. To be quite frank, it damn near confounded her. And yet, despite her companion's best efforts, it was not long before the looming building pressed in once more on Lydia's thoughts and she turned, staring at the foreboding structure with lips pressed into a thin line. It had been so long, and she had healed so much- but still…

"I need a smoke." She announced, unbuckling and reaching for her purse. "You coming?"

She could see the reprimand in his eyes, the potential revoke for her laps in will power playing at the corner of his mouth. She also saw the moment he put it aside, excepting the situation for what it was- A diversion tactic. She was overwhelmed with gratitude, though she knew the pending topic had only been delayed, not completely averted.

"Yeah" he said, following her lead as they both stepped out into the crisp New England air.

They stood in silence for a long time, Lydia removing her own cigarette first before tossing the pack across the car to Allan without a word. She lit the end of the stick with an expert hand and took a long deep breath allowing the nicotine and simple pleasure of a routine habit began to take the edge off of her buzzing thoughts.

This was ridiculous; she knew she was being ridiculous. She was jumping at shadows again. No not even, she was jumping at the thought of a possibility of a shadow. When had she become such a frail skittish thing? Taking another long drag on her cigarette, Lydia forced her eyes away from the foreboding structure, focusing instead on the bright fall colors and scenic north eastern landscape that enclosed them. Little had changed since she'd left, though she wasn't sure if she found this comforting or disheartening.

"I just can't get over it Lydia; It's really just stunning." Allen smiled, leaning against the open car door and gesturing out at their surroundings with his cigarette hand. "It's like something right out of a Poe or King. The kind of unsuspecting place with the time on its hands to cultivate a truly unhindered monster."

Lydia smiled humorlessly "No monsters here, just one sad, strange little girl."

Allan said nothing for a moment, just watched her as she ashed her cigarette. "hmm, well- I can see where all those morose and melancholic habits of yours stem from. It must have been amazing, growing up in a place like this."

Lydia looked up at the old white house with its flashy modern augmentations. "I suppose it could have been…" she mused, taking another drag from her cigarette. "Afraid I wouldn't know…"

"Ahh-" Allan leaned forward on the open car door once more as he pressed his glasses further up onto his nose. They lapsed into silence once more, enjoying the brisk north-east chill and the brilliant fall collars while poignantly ignoring the sense of pending doom awaiting them at the top of the hill.

Or perhaps that was just her…

"How long has it been?" Allan asked. She could feel him watching her out of the corner of his eye. She kept her eyes on the hill and building before her. "Nine years." She replied, feeling the not in her stomach tighten at the thought. Nine very long, very painful years…and before that…

"Nine years…" Allan repeated, shaking his head. "And in all that time, did you ever once feel the need to come back?"

"To what? I had no memories of the place, at least, none that were not…damaged, you know?" Allan nodded his understanding. That was the thing she suspected she liked most about the man, he had been there- he understood. She didn't have to waste a lot of time explaining the irrational things in her life to him, because he had already been there in one way or another. Allan was simply a strange and unusual kind of guy- and she liked that about him.

They were both strange and unusual souls- but there were times she felt sure she was simply a little more strange then him, and infinitely more unusual. She worried about the day he would finally figure that out. It didn't matter that she had told him everything- that he had listened with patience concern and deep understanding as she recounted what little of her past she understood, her psychosis and the subsequent diagnostic measures it had required, her health regiment, the medication, her years of therapy. It didn't matter, because one day he would get the picture, and he would just cut and run, just like everyone else.

"How about your folks?"

Lydia blinked coming back from her thoughts in a disoriented rush. "What is this, twenty questions or something?"

"Just asking."

"Your fishing." She accused. "This is supposed to be a vacation _from_ the therapy sessions."

The two lapsed into silence. She watched the embers dance and glow at the end of her cigarette, trying to bring to mind a mental picture of her father and step-mother. It was fuzzy, but she was proud that she still had memory enough for that.

"We talk from time to time, Christmas cards and all that. I think in some ways the whole thing hit them much harder then it hit me. I mean, they still know; they can remember what happened."

"and you can't."

Lydia shook her head "just some shadows, little hints and fragments of what could have been dreams or memories. It's hard to say."

"I'm sure they can't wait to see you."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Thank you Dr. Phil…"

"I'm serious Lydia, nine years is a long time with only phone calls and holiday cards to go off of."

"I know-"

There was another cold silence.

"Do you still wish you had them?"

"Had what?"

"Your memories. Do you still wish you could remember it?"

Lydia paused, thinking about it. "I…I don't know." She admitted after some time. In truth was she had never given that much thought to the matter. "If what they've told me is true, I suppose I am lucky not to remember any of it. I was a fairly messed up kid, and destructive too boot. There are days I worry- If it happened before, what is there really to keep it from happening again?"

"But it hasn't happened again, has it."

It wasn't really a question, and Lydia knew it. She shook her head.

"So don't you think this whole self flagellation and imposed purgatory has gone on long enough?"

Lydia frowned. He was doing it again- cutting straight to the quick, through her layers of distraction and right to the heart of the matter. It was a gift/curse (depending on where you stood in relationship to him) that she imagined cultivated from a lifetime of running from his own demons. Admittedly, his demons had more normal though no less horrible names then her own; heroin, addiction, abuse, attempted suicide and so forth.

"Don't you ever worry it will all come flooding back on you?" Lydia managed in a low breathless tone. "That one day you'll wake up with the tracks still on your arms and a craving you can't pull away from?"

Allan froze, and she could see that her comment had hit home. He was quiet as he seemed to role the words over in his mind, just as he twisted the cigarette between his fingers. "Every god damn day." He admitted almost to himself, and the somber gravity in his words would have been hard to miss. "But then I always remind myself that, in the end, I have a choice. I'm the one who puts the needle in my arm, no one else. There's a lot to be said for knowing how much power you have over who you are- how much choice plays into that. But you got to know who you are, deep down, to begin with, you follow?"

Lydia frowned as she turned away "That doesn't mean deep down I'm not still pretty messed up."

"Aren't we all?" It wasn't a dismissal, but an offering of reassurance. She snorted "Yeah- we all end up in loony bins screaming out nonsense about talking to dead people in mirrors."

Allan chuckled, "Happens to the best of us, just for different reasons." His eye twinkled and before she could interject he was breaking out in a sing song chant "There coming to take me away- ha-haa, there coming to take me away…"

Lydia rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she tried to hide her smile. "Knock it off you ass."

" ho-hoo, hee-hee, ha-haa…" but Allan was already dancing his way around the front of the car in a kind of accward waltz, kicking up gravel as he went and turning Lydia's smile into a smattering of giggles.

"To the happy home, with trees and flowers and chirping birds and basket weavers…" He continued; now wildly out of pitch (an impressive feet for a song more closely akin to a chant then a tune). He grasped both her hands in his and, still mindful of the cigarette between her thin white fingers, began to spin them both around in a mad impromptu dance; half waltz and half dervish.

"-who sit and smile and twiddle their thumbs and toes,"

"I get it-"

"They're coming to take me away, ha-haa"

"Alright, get back here you 'mangy mutt'…"

Still beaming, Lydia broke free from his grip before pulling him by the collar down to her, no small feat given his lanky height and her petite form, and pressed her lips firmly to him. She could feel him smile victoriously against her lips as he kissed back, tasting of cigarette ash and a white calm born of respect and care.

She felt humbled and infinitely grateful to this strange quirky man.

She felt light, and they were both giddy from spinning and laughing. Lydia wanted to hold onto this state-of-mind for dear life- preserve it, a specimen pinned under glass to be taken out and admired at will. It was so rare, so new a sensation in her life- and such a singular bright point in a life ravished by misfortune and trauma, Lydia simply couldn't imagine pulling herself away.

"You don't have to be here you know." She reminded him playfully when they finally pulled apart.

"I know" came his warm chirp. She hummed comfortably, her fingers toying with the collar of his shirt as the long arms about her waist gave a small reassuring squeeze.

"We could go now-" Lydia mused "go get a hotel in town, just the two of us. Spend our vacation on the two of us, just the two of us…"

She felt the arms about her waist go stiff. "Lydia…"

"I mean it Allan, we don't have to waist this time together on my petty emotional nonsense and this stupid messed up past. I don't want it, and I don't want to re-examine the mess my mind has made of my life, I want to put it behind me. I want to move on without it."

"But can you? Lydia you've been through a lot, and you know it never just goes away because you tell it too."

"Please Allan," Lydia was all but begging now, feeling a small burst of panic rise to her chest at the prospect of turning from the warmth and promise of her new future to re-submerge herself in the horrors of her past. She was trembling with the prospect, her knuckles white where they gripped at Allan's sweater. She watched as her boyfriend examined her, his lips drawn into a thin white line. Finally he let out a long sigh, pulling her into his chest, arms wrapped firmly about her as he rested his chin on the crown of her head.

"You're just working yourself up again, you know that." His voice was firm, but not stern or reproachful. Lydia simply bit back a dry sob, not trusting her voice to carry her arguments any further, lest she talk herself into a total milt down. It would not be the first time since she had decided to face and close this chapter, and she suspected it would not be her last.

"You have to do this Lydia; it won't go away until you see this through. And the longer you wait, the more you push it off, the harder it will be."

She was silent for a moment as she tried to pull herself back from the brink. When she had all her mental pieces accounted for she gave him a small little nod, taking a slow shaky breath. "I hate when you're right…"

"It's a rare and beautiful thing" he agreed with a breathy chuckle, pulling back to offer her a reassuring smile "You can get through this, It only looks daunting now. Once you're in it I swear things will fall right into place. Besides, it's like you said- you don't remember any of it-"

"I don't remember much of it." Lydia corrected, feeling the weight of her shadow memories punch a black hole into her stomach. She pushed them away desperately, not wanting to go down that particular road right now.

"You can't keep running away- it will only hold you harder."

"After nine years, I've become a pretty accomplished runner…" She countered dryly before favoring him with a tired, frail, and slightly hopeful smile "When it comes to outrunning your own thoughts; I imagine more practice can only make me perfect."

Her tepid attempt at humor was met with Allan's upturned, quizzical brow.

"Perhaps, but memories are only part of the problem. How long do you think you can outrun your own questions?"

Lydia bit her lip at that. She knew the answer, of course. Worst still, she knew _he_ knew as well. Because for all the nightmares and therapy sessions, the drugs and the rehab, there were still nights she sat up, looking up into the few stars visible through the glow of the Richmond street lights and felt not the pain, the terror, nor even the anxiety so characteristic of much of her life. She would look at the night and feel…hollow. Empty; as though something of herself had been ripped away, leaving behind nothing but an empty hole. There was so much about what had happened that did not add up, not the facts, and certainly not the emotions. In spite of all the fear she harbored, both of herself and her circumstance, it was that hollowness that seemed to remain the true constant in her life. On most days it was little more than a underpinning, a constant background noise over which her every day fears ran ramp shot. But on those star scattered nights when her mind tried for true peace it came forward with unimaginable power, eating a painful hole through her chest and racking her whole body with inconsolable (and all together inexplicable) sobs.

Where the nightmares and phantoms could be explained away through therapy and proper medication, the Hollowness never waned, never subsided, and never let go. It came unbidden and without hope of remedy. Because the sad truth was, she did not know why. She remembered so little, and nothing seemed to account for a reaction like this. If ever there was to be reason made of it, or a cure available, it could only happen here, back where so much of herself had been lost.

Lydia let out a long low sigh, leaning forward to rest her head on Allan's chest. "I _really_ fucking hate when you're right. I just wish you didn't have to see all this."

He gave her another little squeeze. "This is an important step Lydia- I want to be there for you." He leaned down and pressed a quick chased kiss to the tip of her nose. "This isn't easy. I'm proud of you- and I know your folks will be too. Just remember, this is all your own strength. I'm just here for the moral support."

"And the moldy old book talks."

Allan shrugged. "What can I say, there are perks and then there are perks. But in the end, I'm here for you- not the dust jackets." Lydia snorted back a laugh, imagining her boyfriend sporting a jacket made of book covers. She had always loved puns and metaphors, no matter how childish or ridiculous. She imagined it was a kind of artistic tick she must have picked up from Delia.

"Alright then," she sighed, finally pulling away and taking a deep breath. "Let's get this over with."

Another quick kiss and Allan was gone, making his way around to the passenger side of the vehicle. They both got in without another word, and once seated, Lydia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and did the last thing in this or any world she wanted to do. Slowly, somberly she started up the car once more, put the vehicle into drive, and held her breath as they rolled across the old covered bridge.

"It's showtime."

* * *

Happy 27th Anniversary to all, and to all a good fright!

As always, I love to hear from you.


End file.
